I was playing La Vie en Rose for you
my fingers straining over the keys
"I want out of this noise," you said
and left to get some air
or smoke a cigarette.
Without you, the notes grew cumbersome
and before I knew it, I had stopped playing.
Removing myself from the bench
I went to close the windows but
fumbled with the blinds, and the strings
snapped, the daylight pouring in
carrying with it, your shadow
like a seashell, typical, but still somehow treasure,
important enough to hold on to, to some people,
to me.
Curious, I stretched my body, became
the finishing piece of an inordinate mosaic by
some anonymous Catholic, all stained in glass.
I fit there perfectly, in your outline
never before had the answer to
the question of what to be
been so clear
you were a jar and I was a liquid
for a moment, my only obligation was to follow your rules.
But my lungs itched.
Another world away, back in the sunlight
La Vie en Rose hung in the air
unfinished